Always On My Mind
by gathers-no-moss
Summary: "You think I'm afraid of a little girl playing with her daddy's gun?"


_Title: Always On My Mind_

_Spoilers: Forget everything you know about the fifth season, except for Isabel._

_Summary: Irina meet your granddaughter._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Alias or the incredible characters mentioned below. Irina belongs to J.J. and Lena Olin. Just borrowing for a little fun. Please don't sue._

Irina remained absolutely motionless behind her desk, soaking up the girl standing before her. Long brown hair parted in the middle, trailing carelessly down a slim back. Shoulders that held the weight of the world. Brilliantly intelligent eyes staring back at her. _Sydney's eyes. _The emotions held there brought back memories of another time, another place. _I've waited almost thirty years for this._

When she decided to speak, it came out in an odd, gentle tone. Courteous, and yet almost patronizing at the same time. "Does your mother know you're here?" She closed the folder in her hands, placing it calmly on the desk. She pushed a piece of silken gray behind her ear, waiting patiently for her visitor to announce her intentions.

Isabel stood frozen in the doorway, unable to break her gaze away from who she considered the devil incarnate. She glared at the older woman, reaching for the gun hidden at the small of her back. She clicked the safety off, pointing it in her grandmother's direction.

Irina's pulse quickened, but she didn't flinch. It seemed almost poetic, really. The daughter of her flesh and blood, the girl she had helped bring into this world, intent on taking her out of it.

Not that she would ever have the chance too.

Isabel took a deep breathe before finally answering, trying to keep her voice on neutral ground. "Yes," came out among the pain and anger coursing through her, and she cursed the deep seated feelings that had been brought to the surface. She'd never acquired her mother's talent of keeping her emotions in check. _That's your curse. _Her mother had told her that once, with a faint smile on her face. _At least now I know you would make a terrible spy._ She'd taken it as a compliment then. Now, more than ever, she wished she had it to fall back on.

Irina nodded her consent at the blatant lie, rising in one fluid motion to stand at the window, not even giving the gun a second thought. She took a moment to compose herself, knowing somewhere there was a trigger to pull to get the girl to open up. Something that could be exploited. With a slow, secret smile, she understood.

_Bang._

"I must say, it seems you have more guts that your mother." Irina pivoted around slowly, her dark eyebrows arched mischievously. "I mean, she's an excellent spy, no doubt about that. But sometimes I think she lacked a certain . . . "

"Don't do that," Isabel interrupted, a new anger lighting up face. "I know what your doing." She moved in a wide circle around her target, never taking her eyes away. Never wavering her gun. "I've heard the stories. How good you are at manipulating people."

Irina tilted her head to the side, studying her grand-daughter, eyes darkening for just an instant, before glittering back to life again. She rubbed her fingers over her lips. "The biased version, no doubt."

"Are you trying to tell me my parents lied to me?" Isabel tightened her grip on the gun, her finger itching to pull the trigger. Good thing she had a lot of patience. _All good things come to those who wait. _"Because that would really be the wrong thing to do."

A short laugh burst forth from Irina's mouth. When she spoke, her words hovered only slightly to the left of frustration. "You think I'm afraid of a little girl playing with her daddy's gun?"

Confidence found its way into her voice, covering up fear she felt rising from her stomach. She took two steps forward to prove her point. "You should be. I'm here to finish what my mother never could."

Irina settled her hip on the edge of the desk, waiting for an explanation. Every curve of her body spoke of a subtle challenge. "And what's that?"

"She always had a weakness for you." A sarcastic smile threatened the corners of her lips. "She could never actually kill you."

The thought froze in her brain. It wasn't as though it was news to her. She'd exploited Sydney's feelings for her more than once. But there was something about the way the words sounded coming from Isabel's mouth that made her pause. Her mind swelled with a feeling she thought long since dead. But she pushed it away, focusing her drifting thoughts straight ahead. "And you can?"

Determination ruled her body. She knew she'd hit a sore spot. "I will."

Irina's voice hardened, but amusement danced in her dark Russian eyes, replacing the caution rippling through her body seconds before. She hadn't realized what a powerful opponent Isabel would turn out to be. "Sweetheart, the second that gun goes off, guards are gonna come running. You'll be dead before the smoke clears. Do you really want to risk that?"

Isabel ignored the question, quickly realizing that she needed to hit Irina where it would hurt the most. She ran her finger over the edges of the gun before tucking it back into her waist band. Not because she believed the patronizing words, but because she had another weapon at her disposal. "Mom loved you very much. Did you know that? No matter how much she tried to make it disappear."

Irina was caught off guard by the sudden turn of the conversation. Her emotions shining through the wrinkles on her pale face. Horror, insecurity, and anguish fought for dominance over the other. She'd only then realized her mistake, when she found Isabel speaking again, her voice taking on an edge of triumph.

"I mean, she loved you in spite of the horrible things you had done." Now she was the one who was feeding out patronizing words. "How does that make you feel?"

Irina carefully crafted her mask back in place, though she was twisting on the inside. "Do you really think I don't know what kind of power I hold over people? It's the reason I've stayed alive for so long. So my question to you is, why do you care? Why are you trying to use my relationship with my daughter to your advantage?" Irina folded her arms over her chest, watching Isabel's expressions with curiosity. God, this girl was too easy. At least Sydney had been a challenge.

Isabel opened her mouth ready with a quick retort, but the smugness she'd felt moments before disappeared. She found the question hit her at the core of why she was here. She tried again, this time only coming out with, "It's not that simple," before closing her eyes in humiliation. Every time she thought she'd gained the upper hand, her grandmother came out with a better one. Her eyes faltered to the ground, filling with tears of insecurity and defeat. Despair quickly gnawed away any confidence she had been feeling. She cautiously ran her hand over her lower back, grasping for the gun. A weapon she knew how to use.

Choking back a sob, she brought the gun level with her chest, her hands trembling with barely held restraint. Suddenly the pressure was just to much. She felt the tears streaming down her face before she could control them. One by one broken promises shattered onto the concrete floor. Except for one. "I promised my mother I would do the impossible. It's your turn to die."

A flicker of uneasiness swept through Irina's senses. There was nothing more dangerous than an unhinged person with a gun.

Especially a Derevko.

She chose her words carefully, her voice wavering in bewilderment. "Why are you suddenly falling apart? What's wrong?"

Isabel bit down hard on her lower lip, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. "I have to . . . you have to . . . I made a promise . . . mother . . . die . . . " Her words stumbled over each other, making less sense with each one that passed her lips. She aimed the gun once more, but the fire with which she had entered had all but gone. She fell to her knees, the gun clattering innocently to the floor. Her hands covered her face instantaneously, catching her tears in the palms of her hands.

All Irina could do was stare at the sobbing mess in front of her. A disturbing thought entered her mind as she anxiously searched for the meaning behind the garbled words. _Surely Sydney wasn't . . . surely I would have heard something. _She knelt beside the fallen girl, her stomach clenched in a tight knot. "You need to tell me what happened."

Isabel wiped away the last of her tears, raising her water logged face to her grandmothers. She stared at the older woman, watching as emotion after emotion swept across high cheekbones. The tears in her eyes faded into the shadows that deepened in her skin.

She didn't owe this woman an explanation, and yet . . . she felt compelled to say something. "There was a car accident . . . she didn't . . . she didn't make it."

Irina let the words wash over her, soaking them in until there was no way they would ever escape. She managed to stand up, promptly kicking the gun across the room. The click of metal against brick resounded through the room. She clenched her left hand until her nails entered her palm. "When did it happen?"

"Three months ago," Isabel answered numbly. A twinge of disappointment melted with the anguish she was already feeling. _Was this the same woman who had murdered her grandfather in cold blood? The same woman who had killed eleven other CIA agents? _Her eyes automatically searched for the gun, even though she had an odd sense that she wasn't in any danger. "Its taken me that long to find you."

Irina ingested the information slowly, separating the bits and pieces into different parts of her mind. She didn't dare mold them together for fear of breaking down completely. But a nagging in the back of her mind refused to be stilled until one more question was answered. She cleared her throat awkwardly. "She didn't suffer?"

"No," she managed to inject. She winced in memory, remembering the expression on the doctors face when he'd announced that her mother was DOA. "The doctor said she died on impact."

A lethal calmness claimed her eyes. "Good . . . she's suffered enough . . ."

Isabel angrily bit back a retort that most of her mother's suffering had been at the hands that now mourned her, deciding instead to leave things as is. She nervously glanced around, then back to the gun, wondering if she should make a move for it.

Irina eyes finally followed Isabel's, landing on a spot beside the wall. "If you think you need it, pick it up."

She walked to the other side of the room, gingerly tucking it inside her left hand. Despite the hate that still flowed through her, a tiny bit of sorrow forced its way through. She searched out Irina's face, watching her calmly pulling herself together. "I've heard stories all my life about you. How you're this unfeeling monster, always lurking in the shadows looking for her next meal."

With long purposeful strides, Irina made her way back to her desk. She slid gracefully into the leather chair, folding her hands together. She spoke after a long pause. "Has that assessment changed?"

"No. But I believe it's only a small part of who you are." Isabel made her way to the door, an edgy smile on her face. "There's a lot more than meets the eye."

Irina let the comment slide, slipping into a smile of approval. "Can I expect another visit from you, or do I need to be prepared for a gun in the back?"

Isabel paused in the doorway, turning her head so that she was in profile. She peered out from beneath her long lashes, her face filled with amusement. "Expect both, grandmother."

THE END


End file.
